Star Trek 09 Read online

  Explore the outer reaches with the Enterprise and her crew as they exchange bodies with an alien intelligence; engage in deadly war games; pursue a vaporous creature to a desolate planet; and probe a fearsome zone of darkness that threatens to destroy them all.

  BASED ON THE EXCITING

  NEW NBC-TV SERIES CREATED

  BY GENE RODENBERRY

  A NATIONAL GENERAL COMPANY

  STAR TREK 9

  A Bantam Book / published January 1973

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1973 by Bantam Books, Inc.

  Copyright © 1973 by Paramount Pictues Corporation.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,

  by mimeograph or any other means,

  without permission in writing.

  Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

  ISBN-13: 978-0553121117

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, Inc., a subsidiary of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc. Its trade-mark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a bantam, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, Inc., 271 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10016.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  CONTENTS

  * * *

  PREFACE

  RETURN TO TOMORROW

  THE ULTIMATE COMPUTER

  THAT WHICH SURVIVES

  OBSESSION

  THE RETURN OF THE ARCHONS

  THE IMMUNITY SYNDROME

  PREFACE

  * * *

  There is a lot of mail to be caught up on this time, and some news. However, a book is not a newspaper, so some of the news may be contradicted by later events, and certainly stale, by the time you read this.

  First of all, there was a Star Trek convention in New York last January. The organizer expected perhaps five hundred people. He got nearly four thousand—which makes this gathering, incidentally, the largest science-fiction convention in history. It was covered in some depth by TV Guide and by several major newspapers.

  Gene Roddenberry was there, and told both the audience and the press that he hoped for a return of the series. Though quotations of what he actually said make it clear that this was no more than a wish we all share, my mail shows that it created more solid anticipation than it should have.

  If you would like to add your voice to those urging NBC to choose in favor of Star Trek, write to: Bettye K. Hoffmann, Manager, NBC Corporate Information, National Broadcasting Company, 30 Rockefeller Plaza, New York, N. Y. 10020. Writing to me about it does no good at all; I am only a writer with no influence whatsoever upon NBC except for the known popularity of these books.

  I've said several times in the past that though I read all your letters and value them, there are just too many of them for me to answer. There's been no falling off in their numbers since then. Yet not only do I still get requests for personal replies, but many of them enclose American return postage. Even were I able to answer—and I repeat, with apologies, that I just can't—U.S. stamps are just as useless in England as British stamps would be in the states. Save your money!

  From ST 6 on, I'm greatly indebted to Muriel Lawrence, who began by doing a staggering amount of typing for me, and went on from there to take so much interest in Star Trek itself that her analyses, suggestions, and counsel have made the adaptations much better than they used to be. And just possibly it may be worth adding, for those among you who believe or fear that anybody over thirty can't possibly understand what inspires people under that age, that we were both of us well past it before Star Trek had even been conceived. Idealism lasts, if you love it; and these books would have been impossible without it, just like the show itself.

  Be of good cheer. We're not alone, no matter how often we may think we are.

  JAMES BLISH

  RETURN TO TOMORROW

  (Gene Roddenberry and John T. Dugan)

  * * *

  The readings were coming from a star system directly ahead of the Enterprise. And havoc is what they were causing. The Starship's distress relays had been activated. All its communication channels had been affected. A direction to follow had even been specified, but no clear signal had been received. Yet one fact was clear: someone or something was trying to attract the Enterprise's attention. Who? Or what? Those were the questions.

  Over at Spock's station, Kirk said, "Well?"

  "I don't know, Captain."

  Despite his exasperation, Kirk smiled. "I never heard you use those words before, Mr. Spock."

  "Not even a Vulcan can know the unknown, sir," Spock said stiffly. "We're hundreds of light years past where any Earth ship has ever explored."

  "Planet dead ahead, Captain!" Sulu called. "Becoming visual."

  The screen showed what appeared to be a very dead planet: scarred, shrunken, a drifting cadaver of a world.

  Uhura turned from her board. "That planet is the source of whatever it is we have been receiving, sir."

  Spock, his head bent to his hooded viewer, announced, "Class M planet, sir. Oblate spheroid, ratio 1 to 296. Mean density 5.53. Mass .9." He paused. "Close resemblance to Earth conditions with two very important differences. It's much older than Earth. And about half a million years ago its atmosphere was totally ripped away by some cataclysm. Sensors detect no life of any kind."

  Without warning the bridge was suddenly filled by the sound of a voice, resonant, its rich deepness profoundly impressive. "Captain Kirk" it said, "all your questions will be answered in time."

  The bridge people stared at the screen. Kirk, turning to Uhura, said, "Are your hailing frequencies freed yet, Lieutenant?"

  "No, sir."

  They had sped past the planet now. Eyes on the screen, Kirk said, "Maintain present course, Mr. Sulu."

  The deep voice spoke again. "I am Sargon. It is the energy of my thoughts which has touched your instruments and directed you here."

  "Then, can you hear me?" Kirk asked. "Who are you, Sargon?"

  "Please assume a standard orbit around our planet, Captain."

  "Are you making a request or demand?" Kirk said.

  "The choice is yours. I read what is in your mind: words are unnecessary."

  "If you can read my mind, you must know I am wondering just who and what you are. The planet we've just passed is dead; there is no possibility of life there as we understand life."

  "And I," said the voice, "am as dead as my planet. Does that frighten you, Captain? If it does, you will let what is left of me perish." An awesome solemnity had entered the voice. "Then, all of you, my children—all of mankind will . . ."

  The voice faded as the Starship moved out of the planet's range. Sulu, turning to Kirk, said, "Do we go on, sir—or do I turn the ship back?"

  Kirk could feel all eyes centered on him. Then Spock spoke from his station. "There's only one possible explanation, sir. Pure thought. . . the emanations of a fantastically powerful mind."

  Kirk paced the distance from his chair to the main viewing screen. "Whatever it is, we're beyond its range."

  "And out of danger," Spock said dryly.

  "You don't recommend going back?"

  "If a mind of that proportion should want to harm us, sir, we could never hope to cope with it."

  "It called me—us 'my children,' " Kirk said. "What could that mean?"

  "Again, sir—I don't know."

  Kirk sank down in his command chair, frowning. Then his brow cleared. "All right," he said. "Take us back, Mr. Sulu. Standard orbit around the planet."

  The dead world gradually reappeared on the screen, its color the hue of dead ash. Sulu said, "Entering standard orbit, Captain."

  Kirk nodded, eyes on the screen. Then he hit the button of his comm
and recorder, dictating. "Since exploration and contact with alien intelligence is our primary mission, I have decided to risk the dangers potential in our current situation—and resume contact with this strange planet. Log entry out." Snapping off the recorder, he spoke to Uhura. "How long before Starfleet receives that?"

  "Over three weeks at this distance, sir. A month and a half before we receive their answer."

  Kirk left his chair to cross to Spock's station. The Vulcan was swiftly manipulating dials.

  "Got something?" Kirk said.

  "Sensors registering some form of energy, sir . . . deep inside the planet."

  Sargon's voice came once more. "Your probes have touched me, Mr. Spock."

  Spock looked up at Kirk. "I read energy only, sir. No life form."

  Then again Sargon spoke. "I have locked your transporter device on my coordinates. Please come to us. Rescue us from oblivion."

  Spock, imperturbable, lifted his head from his viewer's mound. "It came from deep under the planet surface, Captain . . . from under at least a hundred miles of solid rock."

  Kirk began, "We can't beam—"

  Sargon addressed the half-spoken thought in his mind. "I will make it possible for your transporter to beam you that deep beneath the surface. Have no fear."

  Spock, concentrating on his viewer, said, "I read a chamber beneath the surface, sir. Oxygen-nitrogen suitable for human life support."

  Kirk gave himself a long moment. Then he spoke to Uhura. "Lieutenant, have Dr. McCoy report to the Transporter Room in ten minutes with standard landing-party equipment."

  "Aye, sir."

  "Captain," Spock said, "I am most curious to inspect whatever it is that has survived half a million years—this entity which has outlived its cataclysmic experience."

  Kirk laid a hand on his shoulder. "And I'd like my Science Officer with me on something as unusual as this. But it's so full of unknowns, we can't risk the absence of both of us from the ship."

  The bridge was instantly plunged into total darkness. All panel hum stilled. Sulu hit a switch. "Power's gone, sir! Totally gone!"

  There had been no menace in the deep voice. A tone of pleading, yes—but no menace. Kirk frowned, pondering. Then he said, "On the other hand, Mr. Spock, perhaps this 'Sargon' wants you to come along with me."

  Lights flashed back on. Panels hummed again. Sulu, checking his board, cried, "All normal, sir! No damage at all."

  "Well," Kirk said. "Then that's that. Mr. Spock, you'll transport down with us." As he strode to the elevator, he turned to add, "Mr. Sulu, you have the con."

  A young woman, dark and slim, had followed McCoy into the Transporter Room. Kirk recognized her—Lieutenant Commander Anne Mulhall, astrobiologist. His eyes took in the figure, the startling sapphire of the eyes under the raven-black hair. He hadn't remembered her as so attractive. She lowered her eyes, checking her equipment, two security guards beside her. Nor did she look up as McCoy said tartly, "Jim, why no briefing on this? I'd like at least to know—"

  Kirk interrupted. "Easy, Bones. If you know 'something is down there,' you know as much as we do. The rest is only guesses."

  Scott, over at the Transporter console, spoke. "I don't like it, Captain. Your coordinates preset by an alien of some unknown variety. You could materialize inside solid rock."

  "Inside solid rock! McCoy shouted.

  Spock, moving in beside Scott, said, "Unlikely, Doctor. The coordinates correspond to a chamber that sensor readings detected on the bridge."

  "It is my feeling," Kirk said, "that they or it could destroy us standing right here if it wanted to, Mr. Scott."

  Anne spoke for the first time. " 'They' or 'it?" she said.

  Kirk looked at her. "Lieutenant Commander, may I ask what you're doing here in this room?"

  "I was ordered to report for landing-party duty, sir."

  "By whom?"

  "I . . ." She smiled. "It's strange, sir. I'm not sure."

  There was a moment's pause. Then, flushing, she added. "I do not lie, Captain. I did receive an order to report here."

  Spock intervened. "I'm sure she did, Captain. Just as you received an order to take me along."

  Kirk nodded; and McCoy said, "Let's get back to this solid-rock business. How much rock are we going through?"

  Spock answered. "Exactly one hundred, twelve point three seven miles below the surface, Doctor."

  "Miles?" McCoy echoed blankly. "Jim, he's joking!"

  But Kirk was assigning Transporter positions to the party. They were taking their places when the console lights abruptly flashed on and Sargon's voice said, "Please stand ready, I will operate the controls"

  Kirk spoke in reaction to the shock in McCoy's face. "If you'd prefer to stay behind, Bones . . ."

  McCoy eyed him. "No—no, if I'd be useful, and I may have to be, that is, as long as you're beaming down, Jim . . ." He shrugged. "I might as well have a medical look at whatever this is."

  Kirk joined them on the platform. "Energize!" he called to Scott.

  The dematerializing shimmer broke them into glittering fragments—all of them except the two security guards. They were left standing, unaffected, on the platform, their faces astounded. Scott stared at them, his face drawing into lines of worry.

  The selected group materialized in a metallic vault, some sort of antechamber, its luminescent walls diffusing a softly radiant glow. Spock was the first to realize the absence of the security guards.

  Kirk nodded at his comment. "Somebody down here doesn't like them," he said. He opened his communicator. "Kirk here, Scotty."

  "Can you read me, Captain?"

  "I shouldn't be able to, not from this deep inside the planet. Perhaps that's been arranged for us, too. Is the security team up there?"

  "They're fine, Captain. They just didn't dematerialize. I don't like it, sir."

  "No problems here yet. Maintain alert. Captain out."

  Anne and Spock had been circling the vault with their tricorders. The girl said, "Atmosphere report, Captain. A fraction richer in oxygen than usual for us, but otherwise normal."

  Spock had applied his tricorder to a wall. "This vault was fabricated about a half-million years ago. About the same time that the planet surface was destroyed."

  "Walls' composition?"

  "A substance or alloy quite unknown to me, sir. Much stronger and harder than anything I ever measured."

  "All readings go off the scale, sir," Anne said.

  "The air's fresh," McCoy said, sniffing. "Must be re-circulated somehow."

  "For us? Or does 'it' need fresh air?"

  As if in reply, the fourth wall of the vault slid back. They recoiled. Ahead of them was a vast room. It was starkly bare, empty except for a large slab of veinless white stone, supported by four plain standards of the same immaculate stone. On it stood a big translucent globe, brilliantly lit from within. The group followed Kirk into the room; but as Spock stepped forward to take a tricorder reading of the globe, he was halted by the sound of Sargon's voice, still deep but no longer resonant.

  "Welcome," said the globe. "I am Sargon."

  Once more Spock focused his tricorder. "Sargon, would you mind if I—?"

  "You may use your tricorder, Mr. Spock. Your readings will show energy but no substance. Sealed in this receptacle is the essence of my mind."

  Spock took his readings. Then he backed up to Kirk so that he, too, could see them. Kirk gave a low whistle of amazement. "Impossible, Spock! A being of pure energy without matter or form!"

  McCoy addressed the globe. "But you once had a body of some type?"

  "Although our minds were infinitely greater, my body was much as yours, my children."

  Kirk spoke slowly. "That is the second time you have called us your 'children'."

  "Because it is probable you are our descendants, Captain. Six thousand centuries ago our vessels were colonizing this galaxy just as your own Starships are now exploring it. As you leave your seed on distant planets, so we left
our seed behind us."

  Anne protested: "Our studies indicate that our planet Earth evolved independently." But Spock, his face unusually preoccupied, said, "That would explain many enigmas in Vulcan pre-history."

  "There is no certainty. It was so long ago that the records of our travels were lost in the catastrophe we loosed upon ourselves."

  Kirk said, "A war?"

  "A struggle for goal that unleashed a power you cannot even comprehend."

  "Then perhaps your intelligence was deficient, Sargon." Kirk stepped toward the globe. "We faced a crisis like that at the beginning of the Nuclear Age. But we found the wisdom not to destroy ourselves."

  "We survived our primitive Nuclear Era, my son. But there comes to all races an ultimate crisis which you have yet to face."

  "I should like to understand," Kirk said. "I do not."

  "The mind of man can become so powerful that he forgets he is man. He confuses himself with God."

  Kirk's mind was awhirl. Was this being speaking of the Lucifer sin? Abruptly, he felt a completed trust of Sargon. He moved to the globe with the confidence of a child to a parent. "You said you needed help. What is it you wish?"

  A strange thrilling sound echoed through the room. In the globe, light fluctuated, growing brighter and brighter. Then a flare broke from it. It transfixed Kirk, holding him immobile. At the same instant light in the globe dimmed to a tiny flicker. It was clear to the others that the essence of what was in the globe had transferred itself to Kirk—and vanished into him.

  McCoy started forward, but Spock put out a restraining hand. "Patience, Doctor. Let's wait a moment."

  Kirk stood rigid, stiffened, his eyes shut. It seemed centuries to McCoy before they opened, "Jim. . . ." he said. "Jim . . ."